


We Go Deeper Than Skin

by bluenna



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: AM - Freeform, I, M/M, cashtoncashtoncahstonso, im weak, tattoos and stuff, thank you potf for the endless title supply, weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:32:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluenna/pseuds/bluenna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The marks are a family trait. Ashton has none.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Go Deeper Than Skin

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't been writing for a few months, like, at all. It's probably due to the fact that I've fallen a bit out of the fandom but also cause i havent felt like writing. Somehow though I got these weird urge to write today and I started rewriting crazy in loves ch 4 (might be cause i got a new laptop after two years of dealing with that piece of crap that takes ten minutes to open a fucking tab, that dick) but but but thEN i saw this post on tumblr about heavily tattooed people and their kids and suddenly i wrote this even tho i was only supposed to write down the idea. oh well.
> 
> hmm, i think i had some kind of point. ugh this is literally what happens with my plots i have an idea and then my fingers write something idek
> 
> ah yes, i think ill be writing some fics, and im definitely going to finish crazy in love, just please be patient with me.
> 
> anyway this fic is so weird like at some point i totally changed my writing style, probs at the point when i went to the store and ate chicken nuggets
> 
> alright, enough babbling, hope you like this :)

Ashton is eight years old, and his skin is blank like a newly painted wall. He knows this is normal, and anything other would be the opposite, but when he looks at his mother and his father and sees the black patterns covering their skin, he feels incomplete. His mother tells him he worries too much, that the marks will come if he waits patiently, but her words don’t mean much when he hears his father whispering to her how he’s worried there’s something wrong with Ashton.

It’s a family thing, you see. A very rare trait nowadays, for there was a time when children with these dark marks where considered to be touched by the devil. Some people still are put off when they realize that those marks are not tattoos, they’re something more, but Ashton doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if he’s different from the world. He wants to be beautiful, like his family is.

He doesn’t know where the marks come from, and his mother won’t tell, she just smiles at him and ruffles his hair and asks him if he’s hungry, or if he’d like to play, but Ashton’s so worried he never really enjoys those things. He cooks and bakes and plays with his mother, just so see her happy, but there’s always a voice nagging at the back of his mind, telling him something’s wrong.

\--

Ashton is ten, still unmarked, and the new girl at his school has a flower on the back of her hand. Ashton’s excited, because he’s never met anyone with marks that aren’t his family, and maybe this girl will help him to get a flower of his own.

The girl is nice and pretty, but when Ashton tells her he’ll get his marks soon, too, she frowns. She tells him he’s lying and when he assures her he’s not, she tells him he’s weird.

“Mom says I got my first mark when I was six months old. It’s a sign of love. If you’re not lying, then it means you can’t love and you’re weird.”

When she walks away, Ashton pulls his hands to his chest, over his heart, and closes his eyes.

She’s lying, he tells himself.

\--

Ashton is eleven, and he has stopped telling his mother he loves her. It’s not because he doesn’t, but because every time he says it, she smiles and the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

\--

Ashton is thirteen when they move closer to the ocean. It’s a nice house with two stories and a big yard and he knows they’re going to stay there for a long time, because when his mother first saw it, a new line made its way up her throat and curled around her ear.

Ashton helps his dad unload the last boxes from the car, carries a box of his stuff up into his room and sits down on the floor with the box on his lap. The walls of the room are painted white and there are a few nails for painting which Ashton will probably pull out. The floor is some kind of wood, smooth against the skin of his legs.

After a few moments of listening to the clatter from downstairs where his mother is working on the kitchen, he puts the box aside and goes down.

“I’m going out,” he says when he walks through the kitchen, and tells his mother he’ll unpack when he gets back. “The ocean, mom, I wanna see it.” His mother lets him know they’ll be ordering food in two hours and tells him to be back by then, and Ashton assures her he will.

It’s not a long way to the beach, barely ten minutes by foot, so Ashton doesn’t really see the area that much. He passes houses that are more alike than not, and people that are so different from each other they all blur together. The sky is the same blue as it was back home, back in the middle of nowhere, and the clouds are still white. Even the beach is like the other beaches he has seen: full of sand and towels and people.

But then, there’s the ocean. Ashton has swum before, in lakes and ponds and rivers, but he has never even seen the ocean. He walks the back of the beach towards the edge where there are more rocks and less people and he watches as the sunshine reflects off the water. It’s rather pretty, and the smell is nice, and even the wind feels more pleasant than annoying.

He keeps walking until there’s a good distance between him and everyone else. He can still hear the noise of people chatting and laughing and yelling, but he can’t make out any words, so that’s good. He sits down on a rock and pulls his legs against his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees and directing his gaze to the horizon.

He wasn’t against the move at any point. He’s quite happy to see a new place, to live in a new place, but at the same time he’s worried because this is where some of their family lives. Grandma had moved here a few years back, and then later Aunt Sue and her family had followed suit. Then there was Uncle-what’s-his-name who was mostly on business trips, but still had a house a few miles away. And maybe some cousins, Ashton’s not entirely sure. But the point is, he’s worried. Some of these people he hasn’t seen in a few years and those who he has aren’t very fond of him.

Ashton eyes his bare arms, sighs, and stands up, starting to make his way towards the water.

It’s not that he hates his skin, to be exact. He’s just sad. He’s sad because no one who knows trusts him, no matter what he does and how much he tries to prove himself. He thinks his father has come to accept what Ashton is, and he somehow isn’t holding it against him, but his mother is… Ashton’s not sure what she is, but he knows she’s not what she used to be.  
The sand under his feet gets wet, and Ashton drags his toes to make patterns on it as he walks. He picks some of the sand and runs it between his fingertips before turning his hand and letting it fall. A couple more steps, the sand below his feet turns muddy, and after a few seconds, a wave reaches his feet. 

He stops when the water is up to his ankles and stuffs his hands into his pockets, lifting his face to feel the warmth of the sun. He smiles and buries his toes deeper into the sand, then grins, because he could swim now. He could swim until he reached another continent, until the weather would change, until he wouldn’t understand the language anymore.  
He doesn’t notice the waves painting themselves on his calves in blue, green and white while he smiles at the sky.

\--

Ashton is fifteen and he has a best friend who is almost too pale, but makes up to it with bright blue hair. His name is Michael, and he’s the biggest idiot Ashton has ever had the pleasure to meet. They go to the same school, although Ashton is a year ahead, and they have a band, kind of. It’s just the two of them, Ashton playing drums and Michael guitar, but they would have a third member if Michael just swallowed his pride and admitted he doesn’t actually hate that guy Luke from his class. It’s a work in progress.

They’re at music class one day, Ashton’s fingers wrapped around the drum sticks and the black and blue marks (the ones he got after playing with Michael in the other boy’s garage for the first time) that slide down his shoulders peeking from under his sleeves and Michael a few feet from him frowning at his guitar, when this kid walks in. He’s new, that much Ashton can tell just by glancing at him, and looks like he’s not entirely sure why he’s there. He has dark hair and brown eyes, and a feather on his collar bone.

Ashton knows he’s staring, but that’s mostly because anytime he sees people with tattoos he wonders if they’re actual tattoos or not. He takes a moment to stare a bit more before deciding that feather is a tattoo; otherwise the boy would have more markings, and it’s obvious he hasn’t because his arms and legs are almost completely bare.

“Yes or no?” Michael asks, breaking Ashton’s train of thought.

“Huh?”

Michael nods at the feather guy. “Yes or no?”

Ashton shakes his head. “No, I think. First marks usually appear on hands or feet, as far as I see he only has one.”

Michael hums, glances at the new guy again, then focuses back on his guitar.

Ashton watches as the new guy walks over to a bass, picks it up, and slides his fingers up and down the strings.

Work in progress, Ashton reminds himself, and makes sure to talk to the guy after class.

\--

Ashton is seventeen and he has a problem named Calum. 

Maybe he should elaborate on that.

The problem is, whenever Ashton touches something he loves (loves as in aching love, passionate love, exciting love, love carved into his core) he gets marks. The problem is that not only does Calum know, he also understands, because his mother comes from a family with the mark trait. The problem is that Ashton has fallen a bit ridiculously in love with Calum. The problem is he now cannot touch Calum without giving himself away. 

The problem is: Calum notices.

They’re in the middle of a band practice. Or they would be if Ashton hadn’t declared a break after Michael and Luke seemed to get a bit too distracted after being too long without making out. So, to spare himself from being scarred for life – again – he makes his way outside and lies down on the grass. He closes his eyes and breaths in deeply, relaxing onto the ground.

He doesn’t realize Calum has followed him before he hears the other boy sigh beside him. Ashton blinks his eyes open and turns his head to look at the other boy sitting next to him in a cross legged position with his hands on his lap. He turns his gaze back towards the sky and keeps quiet.

“We’re friends,” Calum says.

It’s not a question, so Ashton doesn’t know how to respond. 

“Last week I told you that I peed myself in the middle of math class in third grade.”

Ashton huffs a laugh. He glances at Calum and sees the other boy smiling.

“And last year you went into great detail about that guy in the farmer’s market and how you wanted to make out with him on top of cabbages.”

Oh, God.

Calum sighs again. “We talk about stuff. I mean, shit, you’ve been my best friend since you dragged me here for the first time and made me go through that disturbing fight between Michael and Luke. Any sane person would’ve run, you know, but I didn’t because you snuk up and brought a tub of ice cream and two spoons and we watched those idiots like they were a Broadway musical, like… do you understand where I’m going with this?”

Ashton swallows. He doesn’t want to screw this up. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh, come on, Ashton,” now Calum sounds annoyed, “you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I-,” Ashton cuts himself off, because one thing he doesn’t want to do is lie to Calum. He can’t do that.

“I figured,” Calum continues, ”the only reason for that is that you have a secret, something you don’t want to tell me, except I don’t know what could be so horrible that you can’t tell me and it’s literally driving me crazy.”

Calum turns so he’s facing Ashton, who’s still staring at the sky. “I’m not going to force you to tell me,” Calum says quietly. “I just want you to know that I’m here. And whatever it is, I’m still going to be here after you decide you want to talk.”

Ashton lifts his hands to cover his eyes and breaths shakily. He wants to, but he can’t tell him. He doesn’t think it’s physically possible.  
But. He also can’t go without touching Calum forever.

He moves his hands down on the grass and turns his head toward Calum. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, just extends his arm until he can wrap his fingers around Calum’s forearm.

He watches Calum’s face when the boy notices the thin lines starting grow from his fingers, curving, and crossing all the way past his wrist, forming a web with bright spots like stars.  
\--

Ashton is nineteen and he’s worried because Calum is half an hour late for practice. He’s fiddling with his phone, frowning down at the screen as no new messages seem to pop up.

“Ash,” Luke says as he lays down his guitar. “He’s just late he’s going to be here soon.”

Michael beside him hums and nods.

“I know,” Ashton mumbles. He pockets his phone and picks up the drum sticks. “He’s late all the time.”

It’s true too, but usually Calum at least lets them know.

He scratches his head, before looking up when the door from the house opens and Calum barges in.

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m late, I know, I had… stuff.”

“That’s an excuse I’ve heard before except usually Ashton has been with you,” Michael says, raising his eyebrows. “Should we be worried?”

“What?” Calum asks, then shakes his head at Michael. “No, I just, had an appointment.”

“Also something we’ve heard before,” Luke pointed out helpfully. “Did you go to your couple’s therapy alone?”

Calum narrows his eyes at the younger boy. “Funny.”

Ashton’s too busy staring to pay attention to the exchange. There’s something on Calum’s arm that shouldn’t be there. “What’s that?”

Calum looks down at his arm and chuckles weakly. “A bandage?”

Now Ashton’s concerned. “Are you hurt? Why the hell didn’t you call me?” Ashton’s up and across the room before Calum even opens his mouth. He would probably yank Calum’s arm towards him except the boy has clearly done something stupid and gotten himself hurt, that idiot.

“Oh, my God, calm down.” Calum pulls his arm back and cradles it to his chest. He looks like he’s blushing, and Ashton pretty much needs to know what happened. 

“What did you do?”

Michael and Luke are looking at them with amused interest and Calum looks like he’s wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

“God, you’re so bossy,” Calum mutters. “Look this was supposed to be a surprise, and definitely not something to reveal in front of intruders.” He glares at Michael and Luke.

Ashton’s pretty sure he hears Michael mutter ‘this is my house,’ but then Calum starts pulling the bandage off and…

Oh.

Ohhhh.

“Oh.”

Ashton stares at Calum’s arm, the thick, webbed line going all the way around his arm, and he doesn’t know how to speak because that is exactly what he has on his hand, from when…

“You guys are so cheesy it’s actually gross,” Michael says. Luke hushes him.

“Way to ruin a moment,” Calum throws back, before smiling at Ashton. “I know the mark trait didn’t pass down to me, so I had to do something about it. There’s no way only you can wear us on your skin.”

Ashton grins, and grabs Calum’s face to pull him into a kiss. And apart from the gagging sound on the background, Ashton’s pretty sure this moment is absolutely fucking perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> i had so !!! ! many !!!!!!! things i wanted to include like how other people get only black marks but Ashton's are colored cause he's fucking special also that feather tattoo calum has is something to include himself in the family history and and and ashton totally broke down the second he noticed the wave marks and cried at the beach while the water ruined his pants and a possible phone. also now that i think about it i have no idea when he took off his shoes, might also be that he just left home without them trusting that there was no glass or anything on the ground. who knows. no one. absolutely no one because i didnt create this it was a vision and i just wrote what i saw.
> 
> ok bye


End file.
